Moving

Maybe life is a succession of pawn moves. A little here. Again there. Patching together a "journey" of mishaps.

We chase down the madness. The liquor. The perfect high. The exquisite pain of doubt, of hope. If I could have your brain, these words, thoughts, ideas would have the arrogant power to convey themselves as law.

My mind. Raw. Aching. Perfectly enamored.

Small but Important

The two friends I have looked up to the most...

They both
have tattoos,
are tidy,
brilliant,
Readers,
logical,
drinkers.

And I admire the role they take on within their respective relationships. Patiently accepting the other's flaws, setbacks, and worries. How they each build and insulate their lives.

Lifted

Somehow reading, even more so in the library of magnificent shelves crammed with books, restores my faith in world and possibilities. Inspired...

Warmth

Lifted, lighter, and eyes so drained. Night night stranger staggering in the periphery.

Something to miss

   Searching for another book to add to waiting list of must read. Crap. Crap. Might be good. Read later.
   Few people I know share an urge to hold a book, carry one as armor, read to feed an addiction. One cool breezy evening, Matt and I were the last ones in the music building. He was sitting against the hall wall invested, eyes pasted to the page.
   "Hey," he greeted. "Have you read this?"
  I shake my head no.
  He stands up and walk to one of the back doors of the building. There's nothing built for at least a mile from the building. It's gorgeous. I'm constantly mesmerized by him. He can easily bounce from sweet to wordlessly demanding. I followed him, just like that. Outside, he pops a cigarette in his mouth, lights it, and begins reading to me. Later when I borrowed the book from him, I would realize he read the oddest chapter. There we were outside, in a soft night, light from the building, cigarette smoke, impromptu reading, wordlessly following.
   Skimming through the shelves, I pass over Choke by Chuck Palaniuk. I wish I had more times of some gorgeous voice reading to me. I check out two books and leave the library.
 

Vision fiction

My vision is slowly failing me, my heavy desire to read the day away, but my hearing is keeping the music coma, drinking in the words, the discordant, swirling.

I turn in two books, check out three, again discordant, sweeping through the chapters, counting progress, comparing.

Restructure

Walking into another house,  another room, all I do is breakdown what I would change, restructure, reorganize, repurpose. Entering any classroom, I feel the same impulse. Mold to my design, comfort, practicality, ease.

Warm in frost. Sleepless and cravng another book. Another song to listen to. Another fantasy to replay. Slightly off.

Jittery

Caffeine infested, spread, invaded. It keeps sweeping through, fresh waves of doubt from the night before...
The urge to cry doesn't stop, yield to my will, wait til I'm alone. The track keeps playing in my mind, all the mistakes. To have a good lover or a trusted partner, both are preferred as a package deal I can't afford or find...
You force me to keep stripping and exposing my thoughts to you. I'm vulnerable, at a disadvantage, at your mercy.

First line

I miss intimacy. Comfort from a distance and trusting touch. A sweet, vulnerable mind drawing me from a will to say no.